


Composure

by Le_Tournesol



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Barista AU, College AU, Crushes, Keith has a motorcycle, Lance thinks Keith is pretty, Loverboy Lance, M/M, Pre-Relationship, flustered!lance, oh no he’s hot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-21 21:54:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16584920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Le_Tournesol/pseuds/Le_Tournesol
Summary: Lance has a crush on Keith. Lance doesn’t know he has a crush on Keith. And then he finds out he has a crush on Keith, and he handles it with aplomb. Except he doesn’t.Or, Lance.exe has stopped working.





	Composure

**Author's Note:**

> And I’ve reached a point where I can summarize my fanfiction in Spongebob quotes:
> 
> “Oh no he’s hot!”  
> AND  
> “Is this the Krusty Krab?”  
> “No, this is Patrick.”

> The rain comes with little warning.

Sure, it was a gray, gloomy day, but there are plenty of overcast days in late autumn. And the forecast didn’t call for any precipitation.

With wide blue eyes, Lance watches the fat droplets pelt the oversized front shop window and then roll down the glass. A grin stretches over his face before he turns back to the counter and points a thumb over his shoulder, “I win! I knew it smelled like rain today! Ha, that’s Lance McClain with 257 and Mr. Weatherman - 0!”

Hunk snorts and stops grinding coffee beans long enough to tell Lance to stop making up numbers. Indignant, Lance is ready to counter, but Pidge beats him to it. She’s got her laptop plugged into the nearest outlet and doesn’t even bother to look up from the screen, “It’s not a valid assessment if you only count the days you’re right.”

Lance deflates, “You’re mean. I’m going to start making your lattes with decaf.”

Pidge lifts a critical eyebrow, “You think I’m mean now and you want to see me without caffeine?”

Lance pauses to think, “Fair point.”

“And that’s Pidge-187, Lance-3,” Pidge punctuates her statement with a resolute click and a smirk. A window opens on her laptop with a spreadsheet and graph. A glance at the title tells Lance that Pidge is documenting her victories. She catches his expression and laughs.

“Gremlin,” Lance mutters before he picks up his discarded rag and goes back to wiping tables.

The group lapses into a comfortable quiet. It’s late, and the cafe is slow at this time day. A few people amble in for to-go cups, but Pidge is the only one who lingers. Hunk’s phone is hooked up to the speakers, and a soft Jack Johnson song weaves itself into the atmosphere. It’s Shay’s playlist, Lance knows; it’s Hunk’s favorite choice to wind down to in the evening.

A thrum or peace falls over them like a light blanket, and Lance savors it like a sip of hot chocolate. It’s not often that busy, boisterous college students get this sort of serenity, and Lance decides to appreciate it in favor of disturbing it.

It’s not like Lance feels a need to fill every silence with chatter: The three of them have been friends for years. It’s just that none of them are great at sitting still, and Pidge and he have a penchant for _noise_.

But this is nice.

Really nice.

Until the bell chimes on the door.

A frosty gust of wind blows through the shop, and Lance shivers. The rain has picked up steadily. It splatters on the welcome mat as the new customer seeks shelter.

It’s crisp and refreshing in its own way, but it makes Lance grateful for his warm little corner of the world.

Since Hunk is working on a batch of scones in the kitchen, Lance takes his place in front of the register and waits for the guy to get himself situated.

He’s shorter than Lance, thin, and soaked to the bone. His clothes stick to his frame, and his inky hair hangs in damp tendrils that curl at the ends and obscure his face. Sitting the helmet he’d tucked under his arm on the nearest table, he removes an elastic from his pale wrist and pulls his hair up into a messy bun.

Lance’s heart flutters or drops into his stomach or something.

 _Pretty_ , Lance thinks. The other teen has delicate features and sooty eyelashes. Lance has a rule about hitting on people while he’s at work, but he wants to make an exception. He’s always been a sucker for a pretty face, and this guy is a babe. And he rides a motorcycle. Damn.

Surreptitiously, Lance checks his hair in the reflection of the napkin dispenser before feigning casual confidence. He leans one hip against the edge of the counter and rearranges the sugar packets while he thinks of his opening.

When the future Mr. Lance comes up to the register, Lance will look up like, _Oh, I didn’t even see you there. I definitely haven’t been staring at you for the last five minutes and planning our first date. I am an attractive barista, man, not a creep._

And then Lance will smile and the guy will smile and they’ll ride off on his motorcycle into the sunset. 

Lance reviews the plan and decides it’s foolproof.

And then the stranger finally looks up, and Lance’s traitor heart thumps painfully in his chest.

Because he’s looking into a pair of beautiful violet eyes, and they belong to Keith Fucking Kogane.

 _Shit_ , Lance thinks, _Shit! Fuck! Shit!_

Since Lance prides himself as being a smooth and composed individual, he handles the situation in a smooth and composed manner: He squeaks an excuse and outright sprints to the back before Keith can say, _Can I get a large black coffee?_ Or, _Were you just checking me out?_ Or, _How good do I look with my hair like this?_

Or whatever he might’ve said!

Lance doesn’t have time to think about it. This is a crisis, a travesty, and it’s all Keith’s fault!

Over the blood pounding in his ears, he hears Pidge greet Keith with an invitation to share her table, like he isn’t the worst person in the world, c’mon Pidge, we’ve talked about this shit!

Lance doesn’t care if Pidge wants to be friends with that emo jerk, but does she have to do it in front of him? She and Keith were lab partners for one class, and their brothers are friends. Does that mean Keith and Pidge have to be friendly? No!

“Uh, Lance, you all right there, buddy?” Hunk waves a hand in front of Lance’s face like he’s called his name more than once.

Lance flushes, “No.”

“No?”

“No,” Lance swallows and peaks through the crack in the door. “Keith is here.”

“Yeah... I still don’t understand why you’re hiding in the kitchen,” Hunk says as he claps him on the shoulder. “Shouldn’t you be out there yelling and challenging him to some kind of cookie eating contest, or a race to see who can run to the end of the block and back first? That’s your usual game.”

Lance shakes his head, “You don’t understand! Keith is _here_! And he’s hot.” Hunk stares, and Lance rambles, “Like, what the fuck? Why is he here? Why is he hot? With his stupid eyes and stupid motorcycle and stupid face? Keith’s hot, Hunk. I don’t understand.”

Before Hunk can reply, the kitchen door is thrown open with a bang, and it saves him from having to answer. Arms crossed over his chest, Pidge grouses, “Lance! What are you _doing_ back here other than not waiting on patrons?”

“I can’t wait on _him_!”

Pidge stares and waits for him to continue. He doesn’t. She frowns and prods at him, “And _why_ can’t you wait on him, you spaz?”

Lance glances between his closest friends like he’s trying to decide if he should trust Pidge with this information.

He can’t, but he tells her anyway, “Because he’s hot! That’s cheating! Keith is _cheating_!”

Pidge takes in his flustered expression. She blinks. She pushes her glasses further up her nose, and then she takes a deep breath like she already knows the answer to her question, but she doesn’t like it. Pidge deadpans, “Please tell me he’s figured it out.”

“I don’t think so,” Hunk sighs.

“Tell me you’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“Hey!” Lance interrupts. Hunk and Pidge sound exasperated, but also like they know something he doesn’t know. And he doesn’t like it. “What are you talking about?”

Hunk makes an unsure noise, like he isn’t sure he wants to say, but Pidge has other ideas. Unapologetically, she blurts, “Your massive crush on Keith.”

“Pidge!” Hunk scolds.

“What!?” Lance, whose face is now the same color as Keith’s cherry red motorcycle, shouts. “I don’t - I wouldn’t - What!?”

Pidge shrugs, “Everyone knows but you, dude. I’ve even heard Professor Smythe mention it to Dr. Ryner.”

Hunk puts a finger on his chin and looks like he’s considering something. Eventually, he adds, “I don’t think Keith knows.”

“Hmm, probably true,” Pidge agrees. “He’s pretty obtuse about these sorts of things.”

Shaking off his stupor, Lance asserts, “I do _not_ have a crush on _Keith_!”

“Oh, buddy, you do,” Hunk says sympathetically.

“No, no, no, you’ve got this all wrong. We’re _rivals_. Lance and Keith, neck-and-neck.”

Pidge shakes her head as Hunk says, “Nope.”

Indignant, Lance sputters, but Pidge heads him off, “Lance, it’s time to start asking yourself why you’re always trying to pull Keith’s metaphorical pigtails.”

Somehow Lance’s skin manages to darken to an impressive shade of wine. Staggered and gaping, he stares at his two closest friends with mounting horror. Finally, he says, “I... I have a crush on Keith?”

“And there you go,” sings Pidge, like she’s been waiting on Lance to realize this for a ridiculous amount of time.

“I can’t - I don’t - I - Keith?”

With an air of long suffering, Pidge puts her hands on the small of Lance’s back and says, “Go get him, loverboy.”

And then she unceremoniously shoves him through the door.

Any chance of his playing it cool is long gone.

Lance stumbles back into the dining area with messy thoughts. The hot stranger is Keith, who is his crush?

He has a crush on Keith?

No.

Nope.

No fucking way.

Not Keith.

“Um, hi? Can I... order here? Are you still open?”

Caught up in his own mind, he didn’t realize the problem was now right in front of him. Lance jumps backward like he’s been burned, “Gah!”

Which, of course, makes Keith stare at him, “Are you okay?”

And then he tilts his head just a little bit while he waits for an answer.

And Lance really looks at him.

And, shit, Lance _is_ gone for this boy.

And then his mouth runs off without the permission of his brain or his treasonous heart and answers, “No, I’m Lance.”

**Author's Note:**

> Idk this is super random and I’m sleepy (which explains the poor summary)? I mighttttt continue it in Keith’s POV but I haven’t decided yet what do y’all think? 
> 
> thanks for reading :) please like/comment if you enjoyed!
> 
> Also come find me on tumblr. I’m sunflower-le-tournesol.


End file.
